Going Back
by altwriter
Summary: She's gone, and he couldn't do anything to help it.  He can't stand living without her.  H/P.  DARK.  CHARACTER DEATH.  Rated for language, and minor suggestive themes.  COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds.

* * *

Going Back.

_"If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them. Building's burn, people die, but real love is forever." –From the movie __The Crow__._

Mistakes happen. And in the Behavioral Analysis Unit, when they do, they often turn out deadly. Situations can change, assumptions may be made. They were all reminded of those facts the hard way this time.

It was supposed to be a routine question and answer with the suspected UNSUB's parents. They'd already gone to the suspect's house; he wasn't there. The team presumed he'd found out that the FBI was after him, and fled. How could they have known he'd be hiding in the back room of his parent's home, only five minutes from his own, with a .38 clutched in his hand?

A nervous-looking woman had opened the door and stammered a greeting. It seemed as if she'd been expecting them, though, she could provide no useful information, no intimation that her son was in that very same building. And then the man himself made himself known, rounding the corner into the foyer and pulling the trigger on his revolver.

Blood splatter stained the wood of the porch. Some of the bodily fluid had pooled, forming a puddle next to the body. Emily's body. The bullet had hit her square in the chest, and she'd gone down without so much as a whimper. Hotch had reacted quickly, his own Glock in his hand in a matter of seconds, and he gunned down the UNSUB before he could pull the trigger a second time. After making sure the bullet had ingrained itself deep into the recesses of his brain, he'd yelled to the mother to call emergency services before diving to his knees at Emily's side.

"You got him, huh?" Despite her dire situation, she seemed strangely optimistic. Hotch nodded, ripping his suit jacket from his body and pressing it to the gaping wound.

"Yeah, Em, I got him."

She coughed, and blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. "Tell Morgan that he won the bet."

"What bet?"

"He said that I'd hurt myself again. I'm almost as bad as Reid now." She managed a pained chuckle.

"Emily, you can tell him yourself. The medics are going to come, we'll get you to the hospital, and you're going to be fine."

She reached up, ignoring the latter statement and the pain that seared through her body with the movement, pulling his face close to hers. "Hotch, I love you."

And then she was gone, her body suddenly going limp underneath his hands. He pulled her body close to his, not letting go until the paramedics arrived and pried her from his grasp.

* * *

One date. That was all they'd been on, to a nice Italian restaurant. They'd walked through the park afterwards, under the stars, and she'd quickly kissed him before disappearing into her apartment once their night together came to a close. That was three days ago.

They'd always been attracted to each other. But, it wasn't until they'd gone out that night that he'd realized just how special she was to him. Hell, _she'd _been the one to ask _him _out, in true Emily fashion, after cornering him in his office one day. Her excuse had been that they were both lonely, so why not see if they could work out something together?

Now he stood at the head of her casket, thinking how unfair this all was. Ambassador Prentiss had shed a few tears, but otherwise kept herself composed. John Cooley had been there as well, though hadn't approached the team directly. There were many others, people that Hotch didn't think even Emily would recongnized.

Everyone had left the cemetery except the team. JJ and Garcia had their heads pressed together, and Morgan had his arm wrapped around the technical analyst's shoulders. Reid stood off awkwardly to the side, murmuring to himself. But soon, even they all slowly dispersed, leaving Hotch and Rossi alone.

Tears flowed freely from Hotch's eyes. Two funerals in a year would be hard for anyone to deal with, and he'd been so emotionally invested with both people. Rossi clapped a hand onto his friend's shoulder.

"You loved her."

"I _love _her," he corrected.

"I'm so sorry."

"It's not fair." He was doing all he could not to break down sobbing.

"I know. Life isn't fair."

"That doesn't make it right."

* * *

Emily sat on the couch in his living room, her legs tucked underneath her body, sipping a glass of Pinot Noir and flipping through a case file. He came up behind her, slipping his arms around her waist and placing a kiss to the top of her head. She pulled him next to her, a smile brightening her face.

A wedding band flashed on her finger as her hands pressed against his chest. He nuzzled his head into her neck, trailing his lips along her collarbone.

"Emily," he breathed. "This isn't real. You're not here; you're gone."

"I'm real _here_," she whispered, and he caught a whiff of the familiar scent of her shampoo as she bent her head closer to him.

* * *

It was the same dream every night. It was torturing him, seeing her, _feeling _her, while he was asleep, and then waking up to an empty bed and a horrifying reality. He had turned into a hollow shell of himself, barely managing to make it through the day.

One night, he decided to drown his sorrows in a bottle of scotch. After he'd emptied the contents of his stomach, he lay on the floor of his apartment, his fingers tracing over the hard plastic of his Glock.

Jack spent more time at Jessica's house than with his own father. Soon, he'd simply become a faded memory to his son. The team could find a replacement. But there was no replacement for _her_.

He ripped a piece of paper from a legal pad on his desk and scribbled something onto it, before putting the gun to his temple.

_'I'm going back to her.'_


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.

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Author's Note: Due to popular demand, as well as my own muse, I've decided I'll continue this story, rather than leaving it as a oneshot, with an unbearably depressing ending. It won't be a long story, and I don't know how it'll end, but my muse seems too attracted to continuing it for me to just leave it alone.

I'm thinking that perhaps it won't be an actual story, more of a series of events, but I'm not sure. I'll have to see how it all pans out.

* * *

Chapter Two.

That damned door bell rang just as his finger had glanced over the trigger. He'd actually been ready to do it, too. But that incessant knocking that had now accompanied the bell jerked him back to his senses; he couldn't do this. His hands shook as he dropped the gun to the ground; his foot crumpled the note as he stood and ran his hands over his face. His head felt as if it'd been stuffed with cotton, and his fingers fumbled for the doorknob as he pulled open the door, only to be greeted by a rather glum-looking Rossi.

"Aaron?" The name hung in the air like a question, as the older agent's eyes scanned the room, his eyes attracted especially to the empty bottle of scotch that lay overturned on the coffee table, and the Glock that lay on the floor next to the scrap of paper.

"Dave." Hotch blinked, in an attempt to clear some of the blurriness from his eyes. It didn't work. "What're you doing here?" His words were slurred, from both exhaustion and overconsumption of alcohol.

"Checking up on you." Rossi jerked his head towards the container of hard liquor. "Obviously I came at a good time."

"Why'd you feel the need to _check up _on me?" Hotch sneered; an unfamiliar expression that rarely graced the unit chief's features.

"You seemed especially depressed at work today."

"It's nearly midnight. You should be sleeping."

"Yeah, I should." He sniffed. "Where's Jack?"

"Jessica's house."

"And why's that?" Rossi stepped into the apartment, not bothering for an invitation, and closed the door behind him. Hotch stayed facing the door as Rossi took a few wary steps further into the room.

"He's happier in a more positive environment. I'm in no condition to take care of him tonight."

"And when _will _you be in a 'condition' to take care of him?" Hotch turned, his eyes connecting with Rossi's.

"Dave, don't speak to me like that. I want to be with my son, I really do. But I can't even bear to be with _myself _right now."

Rossi's bent down, and his hand closed around the slip of paper. "What's this?"

Hotch stiffened. "_Don't_."

Rossi ignored the younger man; instead, he unfurled the note. " _'I'm going back to her.' _" His gaze went from the paper, to the gun, to Hotch, his eyes wide. "Is this a fucking _suicide note_? Aaron, you've got to be kidding me." His brows furrowed. "I know it's hard to lose someone you love, especially after what happened with Haley, but _this _is madness. It's been nearly two months."

Hotch's jaw clenched. "I can't stand it anymore."

"I know it feels like that sometimes, Aaron, but-"

"-Dave, stop. Just fucking _stop_." He slumped against the wall. "I don't need you psychoanalyzing me. I need her."

"Emily is gone."

"Don't you think I know that?" He slid to the ground, his head in his hands. "It's not the same. Nothing is the same without her." Hotch sighed. "I loved Haley. She was my first _real _love. But, Emily..with her, it was something different."

"Well, I can't say I've felt the same way about a woman," admitted Rossi, his hands shoved into his pockets, "but I need to say something: You have to get over this."

Hotch looked up, his face void of all emotion. He now just seemed exhausted. "And how am I supposed to do that?"

"I don't know. You just have to try." He blew out a deep breath. Having come upon his old friend in such a situation was almost too much for him to bear. Emily had been the glue that held the team together, and now that she was gone, everything was unraveling. And Hotch was dealing with the worst of it all. "Spend some time with Jack. Call up Reid, have him explain fringe science to you. Read a book. I don't know. But don't let it come down to _this_ again." And by _this_, he meant suicide, as he indicated with a nod of his head towards the gun. "Jack can't lose another parent. He's your priority now; don't let him down."

"I feel like a failure." Tears were streaking down his face now, silently, but still there. "I'm supposed to be strong. I'm supposed to be the stoic team leader, the one that everyone looks up to for guidance." He stood, his hands balling into fists. "But, I can't even keep my own grief under control."

* * *

Author's Note: Will be continued, of course. Thanks to everyone who read the first chapter, and to some for helping convince myself to continue, instead of leaving it as just a oneshot. Don't forget to tell me what you thought of this chapter as well. Suggestions, comments, etc. are always welcome, of course.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.

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Chapter Three.

She stood there, just beyond the doorway to his bedroom, looking at him through heavily-lidded eyes, a smile quirking at the corners of her lips. He took a step forward, his hands wrapping around her waist, his lips tracing the curves of her neck and shoulders.

"Aaron," she murmured, and he could feel her hands twining through his hair, her nails scraping gently against his scalp. He hummed contentedly into her skin.

"Emily.." And his dark eyes widened as he brought his hands to the sides of her face, drawing her eyes up to meet his. "Don't leave me again."

She pressed her lips to his. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

"Daddy! _Daddy!_" His son's voice cut through the still air, and he felt a tiny hand shaking his arm, tugging at the sleeve of his t-shirt. It must've been still in the early hours of the morning, for no sunlight had managed to sneak through the blinds yet. As he brought a hand to his face, he could feel that some kind of wetness had formed. Tears.

"Jack?" He sat up, blinking away the sleep in his eyes. "What's wrong? Did you have a bad dream, bud?"

"No, daddy. I heard you crying." The little boy stared up at him with a look of concern that was far beyond his age. It was uncanny how much the child reminded him of himself. "Daddy, why are you so sad?"

He pulled Jack into his lap, and the boy leaned his head against his father's chest. Hotch closed his eyes for a moment, and once again saw Emily before him. An involuntary shudder ran through his body. "Jack, do you remember Emily, daddy's friend from work?" His son nodded. "I told you that Emily has gone to the same place mommy has, right?"

"Yeah. Why is she there?"

"A bad man hurt her, bud, like mommy."

"But why are you so sad, daddy?"

"Emily was a very good friend of mine, Jack." Oh, his son could never understand, at his age, how close the two really had been. "And now that she's gone, I miss her very much." His mind wandered back to that night, barely a week ago, when he'd nearly joined Emily. How stupid he had been. How could he leave Jack?

"I miss mommy _and _Emi'yee." His tongue couldn't form the name exactly right. "Why did they have to leave?"

Hotch sighed. "Jack, nobody can stay on this earth forever. And some people leave earlier than others. Earlier than they should have." It was a tacit understanding that Emily had left the world much before she'd been due. She was still quite young, barely into her forties; she had her whole life ahead of her. A life that, hopefully, she and Hotch would spend together. But that had all been snatched away from her by one imbecile, who was now rotting away in jail. Hotch would've like to rip the man's heart out of his chest, just so he could share the pain Hotch felt.

He came to the realization that Jack had fallen asleep, and he gently laid the boy down beside him before quietly tip-toeing into the bathroom.

Hotch stared into the mirror. He looked like hell, with red-rimmed eyes and dark circles underneath. He'd lost weight; gone from fit and slender to rather unhealthy looking. He didn't eat much anymore.

And then he saw _her _behind him, her hand on his shoulder. She looked sad.

He blinked, and she was gone.

Fuck. Was he going crazy?

* * *

Author's Note: Oh, what lucky ducks you are. Two chapters in one night. It just popped up; my muse won't stop. The next update won't be as quick, probably. And I'm sorry this is so short. But thanks to everyone who is reading, reviewing, etc. Suggestions, comments, etc. are always welcome, of course.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.

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Chapter Four.

They'd just arrived back in Quantico after a particularly brutal case that took place in Colorado. The UNSUB had been abducting young boys and molesting them, before murdering them and dumping their bodies into a river. This case had been doubly hard; the victims had reminded Hotch of his own son, and the town they murders had been taking place in was located in La Plata County; the same place where the religious compound had been, where Emily and Reid had been taken hostage.

It brought back bittersweet memories as they drove through the area. Bitter, because Emily had gone through such terrible abuse, though sweet because she'd been alive back then. She was so strong; able to withstand the beating, and still held vacate the premises before the whole place had been blown up. It wasn't fair that she was gone.

It was nearly nine o'clock at night, and everyone had headed home. But Jack was staying at Jessica's that night, because he hadn't expected that the team would be back so soon. And, he didn't feel like returning to an empty apartment, so he stayed to do some paperwork that didn't necessarily need to be done for another week.

There was a knock at his door, and without waiting for an answer, Section Chief Erin Strauss strode in, and stood opposite where he sat at his desk, her hands on her hips. He looked up at her tiredly.

"Good evening, Chief Strauss."

"Same to you, Agent Hotchner." The reciprocated greeting was curt, and he had a feeling that she wasn't there to commend him on his work on their most recent case.

"What can I help you with?"

"I've noticed that your work has not been up to par lately."

"Are you talking about my case reports?" He narrowed his eyes.

"No. Your files are impeccable, as they always were." She squinted back at him. "I'm talking about your field work. You've been reckless. This last case, you raided the suspect's house without sufficient backup."

"But, we _did _get to the victim in time."

"Well, you got lucky." She leaned towards him. "Do you have a death wish, Agent Hotchner?"

"Excuse me?" He scowled. "Are you implying something?"

She shrugged. "I don't know; am I? This recklessness started with the whole Foyet ordeal. It disappeared for a while, but now it's back in full-force." Her shoulders slumped forward a bit, and her face softened. "I know it's because of Agent Prentiss's death."

"_Murder_," corrected Hotch.

"Yes, well, it's been nearly three months. I'm so sorry about it; we lost a good agent, and I know you were very close."

"We lost a _great_ agent," he murmured, too low for Strauss to hear.

"But," she continued, oblivious to his previous statement, "if you don't get your act together, you're going to start wishing you took that early retirement offer, because you'll be out looking for employment." She straightened up. "Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes, ma'am." It took all he had not to let sarcasm leak into his tone of voice.

Strauss had no idea what he was going through; that was obvious. She was cold, heartless, as far as he knew. The only thing she was upset about was the fact that she lost her little 'spy', though it wasn't as if Emily had actually given her any useful information.

But what she had said was true, and incredibly sobering. He _had _been reckless, going into that house with only Morgan and Rossi as backup. They should've had a tactical team with them, but Hotch had insisted that they go inside, lest they get another child murdered. They'd been successful, but that was only due to sheer luck.

She spoke again, bringing him back to reality. "I'm ordering a psych evaluation."

He stood. "What?"

"You heard me, agent. I'm ordering you to speak to one of the bureau's psychologists. A few sessions, and they should get a good idea of whether you're fit to continue leading this team or not." She tossed a slip of paper onto his desk and left the room without so much as a 'goodbye'.

That was one of the few times Erin Strauss had left Aaron Hotchner speechless.

He should have been expecting that, eventually, something like this would happen. But he'd never wished for it; not in the least. He plucked the slip of paper from his desk with shaking fingers.

_' Dr. Nancy Lewis, Thursday 10 o'clock A.M., administrative office 13'_

Dr. Lewis's office was right down the hall. He'd seen her before; a nice enough woman, though no one he'd want to pour out his thoughts and feelings to. He didn't want to do that to anyone.

Because, honestly? He was afraid that if he told them what was really going on in his head, they'd think he was going crazy.

And he wasn't too convinced otherwise.

* * *

Author's Note: Though the lack of reviews and alerts for this story is a bit disconcerting, I'm mainly writing this for fun. But it would be nice to know that people are enjoying this fic as well.

Thank you to everyone who _is _reading and reviewing and such. I really appreciate it.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.

* * *

Chapter Five.

It took Hotch merely four steps from the glass doors that led into the BAU's bullpen to read Dr. Nancy Lewis's office. The room was almost identical to his own, with a big oak desk sitting at one end, and a stern black-upholstered couch at the other. Dr. Lewis herself wore, everyday, a dark-colored pantsuit, and her pin-straight brown hair always sat atop her head in a harsh bun.

But her outward appearance betrayed her demeanor; she was a kindly woman, with a caring smile. She welcomed Hotch into her office, allowing him to take a seat on the couch while she pulled over a chair. He sat perched on the edge, looking as if a steel rod had been shoved up through his spine.

"Good morning, Agent Hotchner. How are you doing?" Thin fingers were tented atop her clipboard, and her chin rested at the peak.

A smirk played at the corners of his lips. "Not so well," he admitted, though not referring to the reason that would be considered obvious.

"And why's that?" Her eyes twinkled with curiosity.

"A psychological evaluation isn't exactly my idea of a nice Thursday morning meeting." His eyes glanced over the clock that hung on the wall. "I should be reviewing case files right now."

"That can wait." Her nails drummed against the clipboard now; he wished he could ask her to stop, but didn't want to seem neurotic. "And you're just here to talk. I don't think that with you, Agent Hotchner, one visit will be enough to determine if you are still fit for your position as Unit Chief." He said nothing, and she continued, "So, it's been nearly three months since Agent Prentiss's death. How have you been coping?"

"Fine," lied Hotch, his face keeping up its neutral façade.

"I know it must be hard for you," she said, with an air of understanding. Suddenly, Hotch hated her. "You were there when she died, weren't you?" He nodded, not trusting himself to speak aloud. "Can you tell me about that?"

He knew how psychological evaluations worked. Hell, he'd been one of the agents that had helped develop the whole process. But this, well, wasn't exactly as he'd thought it would go. A few questions, mostly aimed at determining whether or not he was mentally fit to continue as an agent, but certainly not a recount of the whole ordeal. That he did _not _want to do.

"Agent Hotchner?" Dr. Lewis prompted, having thought that perhaps he hadn't heard her.

He cleared his throat. "We'd thought that we had the UNSUB. Gone to the suspect's house, but he wasn't there. Everything had been packed away; it looked as if no one had even been living there. We'd thought that he'd fled the area, maybe even the state, and so we travelled to his parent's house to see if we could find out where he'd gone to."

"And by _we_, you mean Agent Prentiss and yourself, correct?"

"Yes."

"And where was the rest of the team?"

"Back at the station, trying to dig up any more information on the suspect that they could find."

"And you didn't think that, perhaps, the suspect had simply gone to his parent's home?"

"They lived barely five minutes away from his own. It would be an foolish decision on his part."

"But he did do it, nonetheless."

He nodded his assent. "Emi- Agent Prentiss and I spoke to the mother for a few minutes. She looked scared, but I assumed it was simply because of the fact that two federal agents had shown up on her doorstep."

"You _assumed_?" One finely-manicured eyebrow rose towards her hairline.

Hotch grit his teeth. "Yes. In the midst of our conversation, the UNSUB rounded the corner and pulled the trigger. Neither of us saw it coming."

"So, he was hiding in his parent's home?"

"Correct."

"And when he pulled the trigger, the bullet hit Agent Prentiss."

He faltered a bit. "…Yes."

"But you managed to react quickly enough to be able to incapacitate the UNSUB before he could let loose another round." It wasn't a question; merely a statement of facts. He knew she had the file attached to her clipboard; her eyes kept glancing down at the paper every now and then.

"Yes."

"And then what happened?"

"It's in the file; why should I have to tell it again?"

"Because I want to hear it from you." He knew that the mind could screw with the memories, to make it seem as if something had taken place that really had not, in reality. But he knew that his memories were accurate.

_With the impact of the bullet to her chest, she fell to the ground with a fantastic spray of blood that arced through the air, some of the spray landing on him._

"I saw her fall. Once I made sure the UNSUB was down, I knelt at her side and pressed my jacket to the bullet wound, to try and stem the flow of blood."

"But you couldn't."

_It was all over, staining his arms and clothes._

"No, the wound was too severe. I was told later that the bullet hit a major artery; it was a miracle she stayed alive for so long." He paused. "Though, I don't consider it a miracle. It only prolonged her suffering."

Dr. Lewis scribbled something down. "Before Agent Prentiss died, did she say anything to you?"

Now, _that _he hadn't included in the file. He hadn't deemed it necessary, and neither had he wanted to share Emily's last words with anyone else. They had been meant for his ears only, and he did not want to tarnish them.

But the doctor was persistent, and incredibly perceptive. Most people had a hard time deciphering Hotch, but she seemed to be able to read him like an open book. "Agent Hotchner, do you need me to repeat my question?"

"She said '_Hotch, I love you._' " His voice was barely above a whisper.

"Excuse me?"

He repeated the words.

"Agent Hotchner, were you and Agent Prentiss in a relationship."

"We'd gone out together, once, just the two of us. That was only a few days before she was murdered."

Again, her pen scratched something into the paper on her lap, before she stood and held out her hand. "I'm so sorry about your loss, Agent Hotchner. I know that Agent Prentiss was an extraordinary profiler." He shook her hand, and she then handed him a slip of paper. "This isn't over, though. I'd like to give you a bit of time to contemplate this meeting before our next. How does a week from today, same time, sound?"

"Fine."

It was most certainly _not _fine. He felt as if his heart had been ripped from his chest, his innermost feelings having been disturbed. This new information that he'd provided, about the possible relationship that could be perceived between the two, would definitely give Strauss something to badger him about.

None of this was even close to being over.

* * *

Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone who left me those wonderful reviews. It's nice to know that people are enjoying this story. Don't forget to tell me what you thought of this chapter. I'm a bit iffy on it, but this will definitely not be Hotch's last visit with Dr. Nancy Lewis.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.

* * *

Chapter Six.

She lay beside him, her head tucked into the crook of his arm, her hair splayed out along the sheets. He could feel her warm breath steadily against his chest, and he stroked the bare skin of her shoulder.

She moved against him. "Hotch," she breathed.

"Mhmm, I'm here." His arms wrapped around her waist, and he brought her onto his lap. He sat upright, his back pressed against the headboard. His lips met the slant of her neck, and he murmured into her flesh, "I miss you, Em."

She stiffened against him. "I miss you too." And he felt something hot and sticky on his hands. It was blood, pouring out of her chest, and he couldn't stop it.

"Emily, fuck," he said, and then to himself, "Not again."

But she was withering away beneath him, and it was as if with the blood, her body was melting away. Soon, he was left with nothing to hold but the bodily fluid, which stung his hands like an acid.

* * *

Hotch awoke with a start, the bedsheets sticking to his body with his sweat. He wondered if he'd been screaming, and was glad that Jack was still at his aunt's. He'd thought it to be a good idea that his son stay at Jessica's until he got everything back at the bureau sorted out. Though, if that dream was any indication, nothing would be situated any time soon.

4:50 a.m.

The red lights of the clock shone at him like a beacon of misery, reminding him that still, there was another day of work, another day of life without Emily Prentiss. He wasn't due to wake up for at least another hour, but when had Hotch ever gotten to work _on time_? He couldn't remember a time that he'd arrived later than one of his subordinates. Soon to be colleagues, perhaps, or former coworkers, if he looked at the worst case scenarios. But at least Strauss hadn't suspended him from work until this was all sorted out. The BAU was all he had to live for, now.

He was out of bed, dressed as impeccably in always in a dark suit, which hung just a bit looser on him than normal. He looked haggard, worn-out, as if he hadn't slept in ages. This was partially true; with the dreams of Emily each night, he never woke up feeling rested. Emotionally exhausted was more like it.

They'd been working on a case that week, which had luckily taken place right in Virginia. The UNSUB had been caught, and now was locked up, though they still needed a confession. They were certain they had the right guy, but their assumption wouldn't pass in court. But Hotch had allowed the team the night off, and today both he and Rossi would be headed to interrogate the UNSUB.

Perhaps it wasn't the best idea that Hotch be one half of the interrogation team. After all, his newfound recklessness could cost them a confession. But, he was still Aaron Hotchner, stoic unit chief. He wasn't going to screw anything up just because of his inner turmoil.

At least, he hoped he wouldn't.

Two cups of coffee and a ten-minute ride in a bureau-issued SUV later, Rossi and Hotch arrived at the station where their suspect was being held. They were directed into a small room, complete with stiff chairs and a metal table, nothing more. The two agents were given five minutes to get situated, time which they used to lay out their case files, before the suspect was led into the room and shackled to the chair at the opposite end of the table.

Anthony Powell was a stocky man, obviously having been able to overpower the thirty- and forty-year old women that were his victims. The women had all been brunettes, around 5'7"-5'8", and bore a striking resemblance to Emily. Rossi kept shooting Hotch looks throughout the duration of their set-up, seemingly afraid that he'd have some kind of conniption, or something of the sort.

Powell wore a smirk on his rather handsome face, and his eyes travelled over the two before he greeted them, "Hello, agents."

"Anthony Powell, we'd like to speak to you about the bodies we found buried in your backyard." It was Rossi who spoke. "Four of them."

"Hm, yes. Those." He tipped his head forward, dark eyes now studying some speck of dust on his shoes.

"Did you kill those women, Anthony?" Rossi was cutting to the chase; he saw no reason to beat around the bush.

"What do you think, agent?"

Hotch slammed a fist onto the table. Rossi's eyes held an unusual spark of fear in them, as he surveyed his friend. "Don't screw around with us, Anthony. We know you killed them."

"You're right." The older agent cocked a brow. Well, that was easy. "But I guess you want to know _why_, huh?"

"That would be nice, yes." The elder agent's voice was more kindly; a role that he normally did not take on in interrogations. But it seemed that Hotch had taken on the bad cop persona this time around.

"I've studied psychology. What you call a 'stressor', I believe, is what triggers the murders to begin, yes?" Hotch and Rossi nodded simultaneously. "Well, my wife left me." Powell turned his head to face Hotch, their eyes meeting. The UNSUB's held a look of morbid curiosity, though Hotch's expression did not change. "Agent, are you married?"

"I was."

"You _were_." Powell chuckled grimly. "And since then, what have you gotten up to? Are you with another woman? In a real, dedicated relationship? Or is it just a fuck buddy?" Hotch opened his mouth to intervene, but Powell continued, "See, women cannot commit. My wife found another man, while I was away on a business trip, and moved away while I was gone. She left me a note. See, she married this guy for his money. Women don't marry for love. They _can't_."

Well, obviously this guy was misogynistic, and his view of relationships was deeply skewed. Both of those factors drove him on to kill, which they knew, but his asking about Hotch's relationship status was out of line.

"Agent, you never answered my question. What is it, then?"

"I, uh," Hotch stammered, unsure how to answer the question. No one, sans the bureau psychologist, knew of that one date he and Emily had been on. But they hadn't been able to be considered 'in a relationship' after only one date. Though, something had definitely been between them. Rossi peered at him from the corner of his eye. "I went for dinner with a colleague a few months ago. It could've turned into something, but…" He trailed off. Why had he given in to the UNSUB's wishes? An explanation was lost on him.

"But what?" Powell prompted.

"She was murdered. By a monster like _you_."

Rossi stood. "I think that's enough." He looked at the UNSUB. "I hope you like it here in jail, because that's where you'll be for the rest of your sorry life. We're leaving." He stared pointedly at Hotch. "Now."

The thick metal door was slammed behind them, and two guards slithered past the agents to take the prisoner back to his cell, while Rossi and Hotch made their way hastily out of the building.

As soon as they were outside, Rossi turned to Hotch, his face twisted into an ugly scowl. "What the hell were you thinking, Aaron?"

Hotch slumped against the wall, a hand over his eyes. "I have no idea."

"We get a confession, and then you decided to go ahead and feed into the UNSUB's taunts?"

"Dave, I was way out of line. I'm sorry."

Rossi's body visibly relaxed, and his voice was softer when he spoke again. "Aaron, I know that you're taking this harder than the rest of us. But, you have to remember: We all loved Emily too. But, we _all _are dealing with this, the whole team. And you can't take it out on us, and affect our work, just because you're sad."

Hotch's eyes were cold when he turned to stare at his friend. "_Sad_?" he spat. "I've dealt with sadness before, Dave." The name rolled off his tongue sounding more like a curse. "I can't close my eyes without seeing her, dying underneath my hands."

"Have you talked to anyone?"

Now there was silence, because Hotch didn't want to admit that Strauss had ordered him a psych evaluation. Rossi cocked a brow, and he finally relented. "One of the bureau psychologists. Strauss is making me undergo an eval, to make sure I'm able to continue as unit chief."

"And are you?"

"…I don't know."

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Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who's reviewing, alerting, reading, etc. Don't forget to tell me what you thought of this chapter. As always, suggestions are welcome as well.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.

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Chapter Seven.

"Agent Hotchner, how are you doing this morning?"

He was in Dr. Lewis's office, pressed into cushions of the couch as if he could shrink back into the upholstery. "Fine," he said, though he knew the doctor could clearly discern that he was lying. After his little 'outburst' during the interrogation the day before, he'd been on edge even more so than usual. Though, it was lucky that the confession hadn't been marred by his back-and-forth with Powell; it would still withstand in court.

"Really, are you?" She tapped a manicured nail on her clipboard, peering at him through narrowed eyes. Her expression, though, softened once she figured out that Hotch wasn't going to open his mouth until he felt comfortable doing so. "Listen, Agent Hotchner. I'm here to help you. It would be a great loss for the bureau if you were to leave, willingly or not. I've heard what people say about Chief Strauss, and I know from the rumors going around that you're not particularly on her good side." Oh, rumors, wonderful. Just what he needed. "I'm not just here to evaluate you. If you'd like, I'm here to talk to you as well."

His eyes were hollow when he looked back up at her. He felt drained of any emotion, as if the events of the past months had left him exhausted. All he wanted to do was fall into bed, and never wake up. At least then, he'd be with Emily. "Dr. Lewis," he began, though his gaze was focused on a blank spot on the wall behind her, "you must know about different methods of coping with death. With grief." She nodded, and Hotch continued, "My team and I, we've been trained to help families cope with the death of their loved ones. But, it's different when you're the one who has to deal with it."

"Of course it is. I understand."

"I've heard of people killing themselves after losing a loved one." His hands balled into fists. "But others go on with their lives, as if nothing's happened."

"There are different methods of coping. I can help you figure out something that can work best for _you_."

"I deal with it on my own, or at least, I try to. But obviously it's been showing in my work, or else I wouldn't be here." He let loose a grim chuckle, allowing his eyes to finally meet hers. Lewis's held a strange look; one of both curiosity and a strange sadness. He wondered if she'd ever had to deal with a loss of her own. He took in a deep breath through his nose, and let it out after a moment. "I see her…" He trailed off, unsure of how to explain the inner workings of his mind.

"Is she here right now, Agent Hotchner?" Now there was a hint of fear mixed into her expression, though he didn't know why. For him, perhaps.

"What? No!" He shook his head slowly, running a hand over his face and through his hair. "I'm not schizophrenic." Was he insane? He hoped not. But he had only seen her once outside his dreams, and he'd been deprived of sleep, exhausted from the bouts of insomnia he now dealt with. "It's when I sleep, in my dreams."

Lewis's fingers slim fingers laced together; he could see the glint of a wedding band on her ring finger, and was surprised he hadn't noticed it before. "It's a type of coping mechanism, like what I talked about earlier. You see Agent Prentiss because you miss her, understandably so. And, because you try to keep your feelings hidden in your waking life, your dreams serve as an outlet for you to come to terms with her death." A smile unfit for the situation quirked at the edges of her lips. "I know fraternization is frowned upon in the bureau. And I know that, if Agent Prentiss hadn't been killed, your relationship with her would've almost definitely evolved into something past just a dinner date." She looked pointedly at him. "Am I right?" He nodded. "The dreams..are they memories?"

"No. They're...what could've been the future, perhaps. If she'd lived. Once she had a wedding ring on. But yesterday.." He stopped himself as the memories of the dream flooded back into his mind. He could still feel the sting of her blood on his flesh.

"Agent Hotchner, the only way I can help you is if you talk to me."

"The other dreams were pleasant. This one started off the same, but then there was blood, coming from the same place she was shot." He clutched his hands in his lap to keep them from shaking. To his surprise, the doctor was still smiling.

"Agent, this is a good thing. Your mind is finally coming to terms with her death." She smiled kindly at him, and he allowed her to place a hand over his. "As much as it seems otherwise, this _is _a good thing," she repeated. "And you talking to me, telling me all of this, will help you get over your sadness. It's good to grieve. It becomes a problem when you let it affect those around you. Try to talk to your friends as well, your coworkers. You all have deal t with loss before."

She was right. He'd dealt with loss before, no doubt, but this was different. Yet, the team had been just as close to Emily as he'd been. Who else was suffering in silence? It would do them all some good to talk.

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Rossi had meandered into Hotch's office, where the unit chief sat working on a load of files. Or, the work was just a ruse, and he was really deep in thought, which would've been the more believable option, as it didn't seem Hotch heard him when he walked in.

"Aaron," he said, and the slightly-younger agent's eyes snapped up to meet his face.

"Dave." He looked tired, but something had changed as well. It was as if some of the anguish that had been plaguing him had been lifted from his shoulders, though he still certainly had a long way to go.

"So, you and Emily?" Rossi slid onto the couch on the far end of the room, one arm flung along the back.

"Excuse me?" The pen he'd been using dropped from his fingers, and he straightened up so eye contact between the two could be made easier.

"Remember what you said to Powell? I was there, Aaron, I heard it. And I assume that, when you say you went out to dinner with a colleague, you didn't mean Reid."

Hotch chuckled grimly and shook his head. "No. Three days before she was shot, Emily and I went out to dinner. I dropped her off at her apartment afterward; nothing happened."

"But something could've."

"Yes."

Rossi grinned. "We all knew it."

"Knew what?" Hotch wasn't exactly enjoying this back-and-forth between them.

"That you two would eventually end up together. Oh, the look in your eyes when you looked at her.." He winked. "…and vice versa, of course."

Hotch sat there, his hands folder, and didn't speak for a long while. When he did, his words were merely a whisper. "Do you miss her too, Dave?"

It was a wonder that Rossi could hear him. "Of course I do. Everyone does."

He grimaced. "And to think, I didn't even consider the team's feelings. What is wrong with me?"

"You're grieving. You were hit the worst. We all get it." He stood, smoothing down the front of his shirt before he continued, "But, remember, I've seen you at your worst with this. Don't let yourself get back down there again." He jerked his chin towards the door. "I heard JJ has another case for us; you up to it?"

When Hotch stood, there was a new look of determination in his eyes. "Of course."

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Author's Note: Thanks to everyone reading and reviewing, though I get the feeling that this is definitely not the most popular story I've ever written. Well, there's only going to be one more chapter after this. Thanks to everyone that's stuck along with this, and don't forget to tell me what you thought of this chapter.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.

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Epilogue.

The flurries of snow that cascaded from a gray sky seemed fitting for the day. A bit of the white precipitation had already created a light blanket on the ground, and though Hotch acted as if he didn't mind, some had soaked through the fabric of his slacks, and chilled him.

Six months. Half a year already, though not much had changed in the world of the living. The dreams were still there, though less frequent. But the polished headstone stood in front of him, a glaring reminder.

He'd been there for nearly an hour, sitting in silence as the snow piled up around him, his body numb from the cold, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was small and warm, and for a quick moment, he wondered, irrationally, if it were Emily. But no, it was JJ, he discovered as he craned his neck to peer up to where she stood behind him. He was surprised it wasn't Rossi; if anyone would've come here to grieve with him, he thought it'd be his old friend. But the blonde agent was certainly a nice surprise.

"I thought I'd find you here," she said, with a sad grin as she took crouched down next to him. He simply nodded, and after a few moments of silence, she added, "I'm glad we have the day off."

"Yeah," he said simply, not in much of a garrulous mood.

"How've you been doing, Hotch?" They'd all noticed that his mood had lightened, if just the slightest, in the past couple of months. It seemed that the talk with the psychologist, Nancy Lewis, had done him well. And Strauss had decided, with some hesitancy, to allow him to remain in his position as Unit Chief.

"I've been…alright," he replied, honestly. "Every day, I wish she was here." He paused. "But every day, the pain lessens a bit."

She squeezed his shoulder warmly, nodding her head. "That's how it's supposed to be. We can't forget her, but we shouldn't let her death take over our lives." She stood, shoving her hands into the warmth of her wool coat. He knew that she wouldn't stay long; she'd just wanted to check up, and he appreciated the kind gesture. "And Hotch," she said, as she took a step backward, "don't lose yourself in grief." As a second thought, she added, "Emily wouldn't want that."

He grinned at that, letting his head fall forward, his chin resting on his chest. He could just make out Emily's name carved into the gravestone through his vision, blurred by tears. "No. She wouldn't want that at all."

"_When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight." -Kahlil Gibran

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Author's Note: Short, sweet, and to the point, huh? Thanks to everyone who's been following this story, reading, reviewing, etc. I appreciate it more than you could ever imagine.


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